


Learning Deeper, Learning Anew

by RetroactiveCon



Series: Praying That It'll Be You [26]
Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Human Trafficking, M/M, Metahuman Shenanigans, Psychic Bond
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-09
Updated: 2020-05-09
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:28:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23789341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RetroactiveCon/pseuds/RetroactiveCon
Summary: “Why do this to us?”Her eyebrows quirk up. “I thought it’d be helpful. When I read you both, he knows you so well, but you…” She shakes her head. “You’ve sort of put him in a box. It’s not healthy. I was hoping this would help.”
Relationships: Barry Allen/Hartley Rathaway
Series: Praying That It'll Be You [26]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1562548
Comments: 20
Kudos: 60





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SliceOSunshine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SliceOSunshine/gifts).



> For SliceOSunshine, who offered some lovely "prompts-within-prompts" for me to play with. I didn't mean to cram so many into one fic, but they all fell nicely in with the plot: metahuman shenanigans (complete with a temporary psychic bond), Hartley learning that Barry is more than just 'sweet,' Barry grappling with his dark side, and a bonus bit of reaffirming sex that Hartley gets to enjoy. I hope you enjoy it!

It isn’t even a proper meta-fight. The two of them happen upon a girl being beaten in an alley; her attackers are hurling foul anti-metahuman epithets at her. Barry tries to break up the fight with words, both because his powers would make it an unfair fight and because it’s consistent with his image as a harmless, breakable-looking boy. When, predictably, words fail, Hartley intervenes. He’s smaller and more delicate than Barry; he’s also spent time on the streets. If he couldn’t win a fight, he’d be dead. 

Once the bigots have been seen off, Hartley turns back to the metahuman girl and finds her alarmingly close. She tilts her head at an odd angle and stares with eyes that don’t seem quite right. (She doesn’t blink, he realizes somewhat belatedly.) Her eerie gaze flicks to Barry. “Thank you,” she says presently. “I would have been okay, but…thank you.” 

“They deserved to have their asses handed to them,” Hartley says. 

She nods. “You’re metahuman too. Both of you. And…” Her eyes flick between them a second time. Then she nudges two fingers against Hartley’s brow. “Boop.” 

“Boop?” He mimics her odd noise mostly to mask how he recoils from her touch. Worse, the faintest brush of her fingers makes him feel…odd. Not odd in any specific way, just out of sorts.

“You’ll thank me,” she promises. “You just don’t know it yet.”

“Hart?” Barry wraps his arm around him, and all of a sudden, Hartley feels a prickle of concern. It’s probably nothing, but what if she did something when she touched him? He could be hurt and…wait, why does he care? It’s not like he’s ever worried about himself before. Self-pity is a luxury he can’t afford, and…and now he feels guilty and even more worried, what the _fuck_ is going on? “Hart, are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” He feels a wash of relief as soon as the words leave his mouth. That doesn’t make any sense. Why would he be relieved at his own half-truth? “…She’s psionic. That’s how she knows we’re both metahumans.” He turns back to where the girl was standing, intent on asking her how she’s messed with his mind. She’s no longer there. “Where did she go?”

“Let me check.” Barry runs off in a flash of lightning. As he does so, Hartley’s brain feels like it splits open. He’s able to think, or maybe he is, but it’s much too much for him to process. The sidewalk tilts up to meet him. The last thing he sees is the warm glow of Barry’s lightning.


	2. Chapter 2

Hartley wakes with the terrible, panicky feeling that something is badly wrong. “Barry?” he calls out before even opening his eyes. “Barry?” 

“I’m here.” Relief, and then a warm hand cradling his. Hartley opens his eyes on Barry’s worried face. “I’m here, shh.” 

“What happened?” Now that the initial surge of worry has passed, Hartley feels warm and relaxed, almost as though he’s been drugged. He loves Barry so much. Dimly, he recognizes that he might still be under the influence of some kind of mind alteration, but it doesn’t matter. He loves Barry with or without mind control, and if all that’s happened is being even more helplessly besotted with his sweet boy, he can hardly complain. 

“Um.” The drugged, enamored feeling fades a little. “Sorry. Um, Caitlin says whatever she did linked the two of us, mind to mind. She says the change that happens to my processing speed when I enter Flashtime probably overloaded you.” 

Linked them? Then the feedback loop in the alley—all that worry and guilt—and the warm, besotted feeling now…he’s feeling Barry’s thoughts. 

“Um, yeah, except just now I was kinda thinking it at you. Sorry.” Barry rubs the back of his neck with his free hand. “I didn’t mean to make you wake up worried, so I tried to compensate and…um, no, I shouldn’t have. Sorry.” 

“Don’t apologize, I liked it.” Now that Hartley knows what’s going on, he can feel the border between their thoughts, hazy and indistinct as it is. Barry is worried, he realizes, and guilty for pushing all those warm feelings at him. He focuses with all his might on love and contentment. It’s startling to watch and feel what it does to Barry: the tension melts out of his shoulders and his guilty thoughts blur. “I could get used to that.” 

“Okay, I see why you didn’t mind.” Barry rests his forehead on Hartley’s shoulder. “That’s nice.” 

It’s unpleasantly tempting, now that Hartley knows he can, to go diving in Barry’s mind for how he feels about their relationship. He shakes the thought away. That would be invasive and wrong and everything he's promised himself he would never do to Barry. 

“I had that moment, too.” It’s the barest whisper against his shoulder. Hartley almost fails to make the connection. 

“But you know how I feel about you.” 

“And you know how I feel about you.” Barry glances up at him. “I love you every bit as much as I say. If you think you’d find some hidden hatred or resentment for you, you can look. You won’t.”

Hartley recoils. He didn’t expect an invitation. “You…oh God. You really do mean that.” Sincerity rings like a beacon in Barry’s thoughts. There’s no malicious undercurrent, nothing to suggest that he feels anything except love. “I just thought about invading your mind without your consent.”

“And I had that thought too, while you were unconscious.” Barry shrugs. “Trust me. Not every thought in my head is nice, and I don’t expect yours to be, either. The fact that you pulled yourself back from it immediately says a lot.” 

Hartley doesn’t know how to answer that. Instead, he redirects. “Did you find the meta?” 

“She’s in the Pipeline.” Barry frowns. His mind rings with confusion. “I didn’t put her there—I was too focused on getting you safely here. She turned up like half an hour later—not even through the doors, just in the Pipeline.” 

Psionic and a teleporter? That’s a hell of a combination. Hartley has the unpleasant thought that they probably only found her being beaten because she allowed it; a meta with such strong (and evidently well-controlled) powers should have been able to handle herself. 

“I had the same thought,” Barry agrees. “But I don’t know whether it was a trap for us or whether she just didn’t want to hurt them.” 

“I suppose there’s only one way to find out.” He pushes himself upright and swings his legs out of bed. Barry’s panic flashes through his mind, and he has to shake it off before he can get to his feet. “I’m fine, sweet boy.”

When they make their way down to the Pipeline, the psionic meta is waiting for them. “My head hasn’t been this quiet in a long time,” she says by way of a greeting. “I don’t like it.” 

“Then why come here?” Hartley tilts his head. He remembers a little too clearly what the silence in those power-dampening cells is like. As painful as his enhanced hearing is, the loss of it ached (to say nothing of the anxiety of being trapped at faux-Wells’ mercy). Barry’s thoughts turn pitying and he forces himself to focus on the conversation at hand. 

“Figured you’d have questions.” She shrugs. “So ask them.”

“How long will this last?” Hartley doesn’t want to deal with the pain of Barry’s superspeed thoughts again, but he won’t be able to keep him from running for very long. Not only would it potentially put the city at risk, sitting still for too long isn't good for Barry.

To his distress, this earns only a shrug. “Dunno. I’ve never done this before. It shouldn’t be permanent—more in the range of two or three days?” 

“You don’t know?!” Frustration floods Barry’s thoughts. To keep him from fixating on her unsatisfactory answer, Hartley interjects. 

“Why do this to us?” 

Her eyebrows quirk up. “I thought it’d be helpful. When I read you both, he knows you so well, but you…” She shakes her head. “You’ve sort of put him in a box. It’s not healthy. I was hoping this would help.” 

“We don’t need your help!” Barry snaps. He’s worked up—worried, Hartley realizes. His thoughts are drowning in it. He blames her…no, _himself,_ for Hartley’s collapse, but he’s taking it out on her. “Hartley knows me perfectly well. We didn’t need you to try to fix us!” 

She frowns. “I don’t know how to reverse it. You’re gonna have to wait it out.”

Of course they are, because when would things ever be simple? That thought must translate in its entirety, because Barry’s frustration breaks for just a second into a tiny grin. The following sense of resignation is so clear that Hartley suspects Barry is pushing it at their connection. 

“You’ve really never done this before?” Barry appeals to the meta. 

She shrugs, sprawls on the floor with her feet resting against the back wall of the cell, and regards them upside-down. “Nope. Won’t do it again, either—it was more of a pain than I thought it’d be.” 

Hartley pushes _Do we let her go?_ at their connection. He thinks the feeling he receives in response is the mental equivalent of a shrug. 

_She doesn’t seem malicious, just nosy._ Barry turns back to her. “I don’t see any reason to keep you here, although if you do this again, I will put you back in a cell so fast you won’t be able to touch my mind.”

She sits up again. “Ta, then. Don’t worry about me. I stay out of trouble for the most bit, unless it finds me.” 

Reluctance heavy on his thoughts, Barry opens the cell door. The meta steps out, looks around, reaches out into thin air, and makes a motion as though opening a door. “Good job,” she says, evidently to Hartley. Then she takes a step forward and disappears. 

“What the hell?” Barry runs a circle around the spot where she vanished. The splitting pain of too many thoughts too quickly returns. Hartley sinks to his knees, fighting to hold onto consciousness. “Sorry, sorry!” Barry runs to his side and scoops him up. “Okay, no running until this is over.” 

“Guys?” Caitlin’s voice comes over the speaker system. “Get to the Cortex now!” 

Hartley twines his arms around Barry’s neck and murmurs, “Go ahead.” He pulls as far back from their mental connection as possible. Perhaps that will dampen some of the overwhelming pain. 

Running to the Cortex still hurts, but not as much. When they get there, Barry takes care to set Hartley in a chair rather than on his feet. It does little to steady him, because upon making sense of the scene in front of him, Hartley bolts to his feet. 

“Cisco!”

Cisco is crouched on the floor. His Vibe goggles have fallen to the floor; his face and uniform are stained with blood. There’s a man in a bulletproof vest on the floor at his side, covered with a thin sheen of ice. Caitlin is knelt between them, both hands bracing Cisco. 

“What happened?” Barry demands. His worry and Hartley’s mingle into a feedback loop. Hartley forces himself to disengage and focus on calming thoughts. Barry won’t be able to make sense of his feelings so quickly, but one of them has to or they’ll both be overwhelmed. 

“Uh, I…” Cisco shakes his head as though to clear it. Judging by his wince, it’s a bad idea. “I was with Iris, we were…we were following up on a lead about a meta-trafficking ring. We got separated, I don’t know…I don’t know if she’s okay. I need to see if she’s okay.” He tries to stumble to his feet. Caitlin's hands clamp down on his shoulders to keep him from standing.

“Where were you?” Barry’s panic, which was starting to calm in response to Hartley’s careful thoughts, builds to dangerous levels. 

“Uh.” Cisco sways ominously. “It’s this…this kinda dingy little warehouse that…” Without his goggles, the way his eyes glaze over is frightfully obvious. All three of them lunge forward at the same time. Barry is the one to scoop him up and carry him into the medbay. 

“I’ve got you.” He settles Cisco on the cot. “I’ve got you. I just need you to tell me where Iris is so I can make sure she’s safe, too.” 

Cisco’s eyes flutter. He’s barely conscious, but he manages to mutter an address. Barry turns to Hartley, his mind ringing with desperation. He needs to run. Hartley can’t in good conscience tell him no. 

“I’ll be here, sweet boy,” he promises. “If it gets overwhelming, at least I’ll be safe.”

Barry gives him a quick kiss; then he bolts out of the room. Hartley’s head swims. It’s all he can do to stagger to the hard-backed chair beside the cot. 

“Dude.” Cisco’s hand flaps against his shoulder. He jumps—Cisco is usually better about avoiding unwanted touch—but the piteous look in his eyes eases his alarm. Rather than protest, he clasps Cisco’s hand and squeezes gently. “What’s up with you?” 

“Barry and I are psychically linked, and we will be for the next few days.” The rush of superspeed thoughts slows. Barry has found the warehouse. Hartley’s head lolls back in relief. “His thoughts accelerate when he runs. It’s…”

“Oh yikes.” Hartley can’t tell whether this is in response to his statement or Caitlin’s too-eager brandishing of clothing shears. “Caity, Caity, I can undress! For the love of Kirk, don’t ruin my shirt!” 

Against his will, Hartley snorts. His mirth is quickly drowned out in a rush of panic and anger from Barry. What’s happening? 

Closing his eyes brings Barry’s thoughts into clearer focus. When Hartley pushes close to the boundary between their minds, he can even make out a dim mental image of where Barry is. The warehouse stretches into what feels like infinity. Crates line the walkway; their nearest sides are barred rather than enclosed. Through the bars, Barry can see people—emaciated, unresponsive, their eyes half-lidded and rolling as though they’re drugged. Hartley can’t tell whether it’s his own fury or Barry’s that spikes through him. 

He continues down the walkway, staring at—and sometimes recognizing—each caged metahuman. Then panic spikes through him. 

“Iris!” 

“Barry!” She rushes to the bars of her crate. Unlike the others, there’s no sign she’s been drugged; her gaze is focused and clear. 

“He’s found Iris.” Hartley pulls back from their connection long enough to pass the good news to Cisco. “She’s trapped, but she looks unharmed.” 

“‘Looks’ isn’t good enough—ow!” 

Hartley risks opening an eye. Upon glimpsing a shirtless, bloody Cisco being forced back into bed by an irate Caitlin, he quickly shuts it again. 

Barry’s thoughts flare with triumph. Iris is free, Hartley deduces. How they intend to free the other captives, he can’t tell—oh, they want to call in CCPD. Barry feels overwhelmed, and he wants to focus on Iris. It's the safest course of action for her, but he worries about leaving the other metahumans even for a moment.

“Ah-ah-ah, Flash. Leaving so soon?” 

Through Barry’s eyes, Hartley finds himself face-to-face with a fearsome-looking woman, three armed thugs, and a captive teenage girl. Fury fills Barry’s thoughts, so strong and pervasive that Hartley is taken aback. Save for Thawne, he hadn’t thought Barry capable of this kind of anger. 

“Amunet Black.” Iris’s voice is colder than Hartley has ever heard it. “You know, I knew you were the lowest kind of scum for trafficking metahumans, but using them to protect yourself against the Flash? That’s a new low.” 

Amunet, if that is indeed her name, titters. “Oh, well, dear, not just against the Flash, although that is a lovely bonus…against _you._ You see, I know you’ve been following me—I know you’re planning to publish some grand exposé and ruin my business for a good many months. But if you do that…” She pets the teenage girl. Like the metas in the cages, the girl is utterly unresponsive. Her eyes drift blankly from side to side. “I kill all the metas in here. If I can’t have them, why would I ever let them live?” 

Barry’s anger reaches a breaking point. Hartley has just enough time to recoil from their mental connection before the too-many-thoughts feeling of Barry entering Flashtime overwhelms him. Fleetingly, he considers peeking back in to see what’s happening, but he’s not sure he could withstand it. As it is, his head feels ready to split open. 

“What’s going on?” Cisco grabs his hand. 

“I think Barry is finishing things up with the meta-trafficker.” Speaking takes a herculean effort when he can’t focus enough to have a coherent thought. “He’ll be back.” 

When the pounding in Hartley’s head subsides, he checks in again. Amunet and her henchmen are locked in cages; Iris has the meta hostage under one arm and is on the phone with CCPD. Barry goes cage to cage, checking on the meta captives. With each battered, drugged person he sees, his rage at Amunet mounts. 

_Barry._ Hartley pushes calm at their mental connection. _You got Amunet. CCPD will take care of the rest._

_Look what she did to them!_ Barry’s thought is tinged with hopelessness and despair. He blames himself, Hartley realizes; he thinks it’s his fault something like this was allowed to happen in Central City. _How could anyone do this to people?_

 _I don’t know,_ Hartley says. He does—some people are incapable of caring about the lives of those around them—but saying so would break Barry’s heart. _But if you stay this angry at her, you’ll snap. Trust me, I’ve done it._

Barry wanders back over to Iris. She pockets her phone and cups his face with her free hand. “The police are on their way,” she says. “You should go, they can’t find you here.”

He nods and leans his head on her shoulder. The anger pulsing in his mind fades to a low, aching thrum. In its place, exhaustion and hopelessness blanket his thoughts. “I don’t think I can come back here,” he whispers. “I’m on call but I…I can’t, I can’t do it, look at all of them.” 

“I know.” Her voice soothes Barry’s hopeless thoughts. Hartley pulls back from their connection so Barry doesn’t feel the twinge of jealousy that goes through him. He knows his meager time with Barry can’t compare to the years they’ve spent together—that doesn’t mean he needs reminded. “I’ll make your excuses to Singh. And then I’ll leave too.” Her voice catches. “I know how you feel.” 

Barry drops into Flashtime. Hartley clenches his fists, trying in vain to stay focused despite the rush of thoughts. The next thing he knows, there’s a warm weight in his lap. He looks down to see Barry kneeling at his feet, his head resting on Hartley’s thighs. 

“Sweet boy.” The familiar words slip easily from Hartley’s lips, but they feel strange to say. Always before, ‘sweet’ meant ‘innocent’ as much as it did ‘adorable and beloved.’ Now, having felt the anger Barry is capable of—even (or especially) knowing that it springs from a place of helplessness—Hartley wonders if they’re more alike than he wanted to think. 

Barry must feel that thought, because he looks up with wide, anxious eyes. “We need to talk, don’t we?” 

“Not if you don’t want to.” Hartley cards his fingers through Barry’s tousled hair. It’s worth it for the way his mind goes soft at the touch. “I get it now, what the meta meant. We can leave it at that.” 

“No, we…” Barry trails away in favor of chasing Hartley’s touch. “We should talk.” 

Despite how it hurts, Hartley lets Barry run them home. When he opens his eyes again, he’s on the sofa. Barry is at the other end, as far away as he can get. Hartley knows that stance, has adopted it himself on plenty of occasions—Barry thinks he’s done something terrible enough to lose Hartley’s affection. He pushes worry and confusion at their mental connection. Barry responds with a wave of guilt that brings tears to Hartley’s eyes. 

“You shouldn’t have had to feel that,” he explains aloud. 

“You think I’m upset about feeling you get angry at Amunet?” Hartley scoots closer—not so that they’re pressed together (he’s not sure if Barry might need space), but close enough that he can reach out and pet his cheek. “You were more than justified, sweet boy. I was furious just seeing it through your eyes.” 

“No, I—” Barry’s voice takes on a panicky, frantic quality. “I’m supposed to be your sweet boy. I’m not supposed to be hopeless or powerless or so _fucking angry_.” His voice breaks. Hartley pulls him into an embrace and rocks him back and forth, pushing calm and love at their mental connection. 

“No, no, shh, Barry, that’s…no, that’s not on you. Do you remember what the meta girl said, that you understand me but I keep putting you in a box? She meant this.”

Barry sniffles. “But you need someone to be sweet to you and I should be that and she said it would only be three days, I couldn’t be good and sweet for you for _three days_ …” 

“My expectations are not your problem.” Hartley cradles Barry’s cheek and coaxes him to look up. He doesn’t want to push for eye contact—Barry’s mind flares with panic when he thinks that’s being asked of him—but sometimes this motion refocuses him. “You _are_ good and sweet, more than anyone else in my life. You also have the same capacity for anger that I do. I knew that in the beginning, when we’d first met, but sometime between then and now, I let myself forget.” 

Some of the panic and self-loathing recedes. In its place is a single, faint note of hope. Hartley resists the urge to dip into Barry’s mind, find that little note, and cradle it until it swells. Instead, he keeps petting Barry’s face and explaining where he lapsed. 

“You’ve been through more than anyone should be asked to bear—losing your parents, being thrown into turmoil while you were still just a child, gaining powers through the manipulation of the madman who killed your mother. No, the fact that you’re capable of anger like that shouldn’t surprise me. I ought to be marveling at your capacity for hope.” 

Barry nuzzles into his touch. That little note of hope is stronger now. Hartley pauses to kiss his brow and cheeks. 

“When we were first getting to know each other, I thought there was some quality you had and I didn’t—something that kept you sweet despite everything you’ve endured, something that made you better than the foul, ruined thing I’ve become.” There’s no point in hiding his opinion of himself—Barry will feel it in his mind. “But it’s not that, is it?”

Barry shakes his head. “I _choose_ to find hope,” he murmurs. “However long it takes, however hard it is, I _have_ to find it, because I couldn’t live with what I’d become if I didn’t. But what Amunet did to those people…” His voice breaks. “There was no hope there. And maybe once CCPD is there, maybe then, but I couldn’t…I couldn’t stay, I…” 

“I don’t blame you.” Hartley rubs his thumb over the firm line of Barry’s cheekbone. It slips unexpectedly over warm wetness—Barry is crying. “Not for running, not for being angry. You are no less my sweet boy for being angry, however helpless or dark or overwhelming that anger feels.” 

Barry’s thoughts flash with desperation. Before Hartley can interpret what he wants, he lurches forward, burrows into his arms, and clings. Hartley coos and cuddles him close, making little soothing sounds under his breath. 

“I hate feeling like this,” Barry sobs. “I hate being angry, it makes me feel so _bad_ …”

“Shh.” Hartley rocks him gently side to side. One hand cradles the back of Barry’s head; the other flattens against his back, drawing him closer until there’s barely a whisper of space between them. “You’re not bad, sweet boy, but if your feelings are too much, take mine.” He pushes focus and calm at their mental connection. Bit by bit, Barry’s overwhelming feelings recede. 

“Thank you.” It’s a watery little murmur against his shoulder. Hartley kisses Barry’s temple and lets his fondness seep across their mental connection. “I don’t, um. Calm down well on my own.”

“Look who you’re talking to,” Hartley offers with a rueful laugh. “I’m hardly in a position to judge.”

Barry musters a weepy giggle. “Yeah, I guess. Still. I didn’t mean to make you deal with this.”

“I love you,” he says, somewhat bewildered. After everything Barry has dealt with on his behalf, he has no reason to feel ashamed of his anger. “All of you. And I never meant to put you in a box.”

Barry’s hand traces gently over his collarbone and down his sternum. The light touch tickles, but Hartley isn’t going to move. “Somewhere, that meta is laughing.”

“I expect so,” he agrees. If he happens across her again, he may have to thank her. She was right—he was smothering Barry without even meaning to. There has to be a way to appreciate Barry’s hopefulness without denying him his darkness. They sought each other out to temper the darkness they felt over faux-Wells’ deception. Letting that aspect of their relationship slip away feels like a betrayal. 

“You needed my hope,” Barry murmurs. On second thought, maybe Hartley wishes for the ability to keep his thoughts private again. (Not that he was ever good at that—Barry could read him far too accurately even before the mental connection.) “You were never taught how to find hope. You didn’t need my darkness.” 

“I do—I still need you to show me how to be hopeful.” Hartley kisses his brow. “But if I don’t support you in turn, all I’ll do is tear you apart to rebuild myself. And that’s not what this is about.” 

Barry sniffles and burrows closer. “I love you. All of you.” It's Hartley’s earlier sentiment echoed back at him. Even now, when Barry says them, Hartley can’t help reading the words as innocent, but that’s not quite right. Barry knows all his darkness and loves him regardless. At least now, he can do the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the end of the plotty part of the story. The last chapter is just smut with feelings, so if that's something you'd prefer not to read, ignore the next chapter!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is where the smut happens - there's no more plot after this, so if you'd prefer to avoid smut, you won't miss the storyline!

The next day, thankfully, is peaceful (or as peaceful as it can get with Caitlin trying to test their mental connection). With the meta’s warning in mind and the energy to do so, Hartley makes a quiet but wholehearted offer after they get home. 

“You don’t have to agree, by any means, especially if you’re still tired from yesterday, but while we’re still connected, I…it might be nice if we…had cuddle sex?” 

“Yes!” Barry breaks into eager nods before Hartley finishes talking. His mind rings with excitement and—oh. He wants exactly the same thing as Hartley. Each of them wants to let the other feel how thoroughly adored they are. “Yes, I want that.” 

Hartley pulls him into a kiss. They’ve kissed during this two-day psychic shenanigans—frequent, reassuring pecks on the cheek, gentle goodnight kisses—but this is different. Barry melts into the kiss, his thoughts blurring in absolute bliss. As his feelings seep through their mental connection, they intensify Hartley’s delight, which feeds back into Barry’s mind, and by the time either of them knows to pull back, they’re dizzy. 

“Okay.” Barry gapes at him, eyes wide, mouth slack and kiss-pink. “Um. Maybe…bed now? Before that happens again?” 

“That sounds wise.” 

By the time they make it to bed, both of them are naked. Hartley yanks Barry’s clothes off, goaded by Barry’s eager thoughts of how much he likes being pushed around a little. In return, Barry vibrates his clothes off of him. It sends an odd buzz through their mental connection, but it isn’t painful the way it is when he runs. 

“Look at you.” Barry tumbles down into bed and pulls Hartley along with him. No sooner have they landed, bouncing a little, than Hartley finds himself pushed gently onto his back. Barry straddles him, leans down, and devotes himself to sucking a bruise under Hartley’s jaw. With his mouth busy, he pours his feelings through their mental connection. _So little and pretty and I can’t get enough of you. You fit against me so well and it’s just…_ His thoughts ring with warmth and contentedness. It’s so genuine and guileless that Hartley is taken aback. 

“You— _oh._ ” Whatever he was going to say deserts him. He tangles his fingers in Barry’s hair in a useless attempt to ground himself. “Barry, _yes_.” 

He feels Barry’s joy as a smile against his skin and a clear, happy note in his mind. It only seems to grow stronger the more he kisses Hartley, which doesn’t make sense. He’s not disgusted. There’s no hesitance, no sense that he’s doing this out of obligation. Hartley is repulsive and wrong and _good and loved_ and okay, Barry wants this. He may not understand why, but he can permit it.

“Let me show you what I see,” Barry coaxes. 

Slim, kissable shoulders. A pale chest perfect for petting and marking. A slightly soft belly made for squishes and kisses. Strong pretty thighs that are _not_ for touching. (This emphatic distinction is Barry’s, not Hartley’s. Feeling how rigidly the limit is set in Barry’s mind almost makes Hartley recant it—if Barry wants to touch, who is he to deny him? That thought earns a wave of reproach and a scattering of new kisses over his belly.) 

“Your thighs aren’t for touching,” Barry murmurs. “That’s okay. I can still do this.” He nuzzles against Hartley’s cock and teases him with little kitten licks. His thoughts turn bubbly-light—playful, Hartley realizes. He wants to be pushed around. Hartley cups the back of his head and pushes him down until the head of his cock bumps Barry’s soft palate. Barry moans, his thoughts scattering until the only thing left is _yesyesyesyesyes_. 

“You like that.” Hartley manages a breathless laugh. He’s so turned on he doesn’t know what to do with himself, and he’s not sure how much of that is his arousal and how much is Barry’s. “Oh fuck you like that, yes, yes, Barry _fuck_ …” 

Barry teases and plays until Hartley begs. When “please God more” turns into “I swear I’ll do this _exact same thing to you_ if you don’t hurry up” and fades back into “ _pleaseohplease,_ ” he vibrates his tongue against the underside of Hartley’s cock. Hartley arches off the bed with a little choked cry. His orgasm bursts through their mental connection and makes Barry come untouched. The shared pleasure builds into a loop that leaves both of them wrung out and panting. 

“Fuck.” It takes an agonizingly long time to remember how to speak. Every muscle feels melty and uncooperative. It’s all Hartley can do to drag his hand up and rest it on the back of Barry’s head. Barry mumbles something incoherent and nuzzles closer to Hartley’s belly. “So good.”

“Mhmm.” Barry’s eyes fall closed and his thoughts turn sleep-hazy. He could happily drift off like this, cuddled on Hartley’s belly. Unfortunately (or fortunately, Hartley hopes) turnabout is fair play. 

“You think you get to kiss me like that and not have me return the favor?” He pushes playful (if slightly sleepy) indignation at their mental connection. “Think again.” 

It takes far too long for them to flip over given that they’re still relaxed and hazy from the shared orgasm. Once they flip over, Hartley presses Barry back into the pillows for a long, lazy kiss. 

_I love kissing you,_ he thinks at their mental connection. _You’re so responsive, it’s intoxicating._

Barry’s thoughts turn warm and fluttery in a way that might be the mental equivalent of a blush. Whatever it is, Hartley wants to feel it as much as he can while they’re still connected. 

_I mean it when I call you sweet,_ he thinks while sucking kisses into Barry’s neck. _Kissing you is_ … It’s hard to put into a coherent thought. Instead, he shares the contented feeling that comes with giving Barry kisses. 

The warm, fluttery feeling intensifies. Barry makes a little bashful cooing sound, possibly without meaning to. He’s too adorable for his own good. 

“You are—” Hartley says between trailing kisses along Barry’s shoulder “—so cute, and I just… _hmm_ …can’t get enough.” He presses repeated kisses to a cluster of freckles above Barry’s collarbone. _I want you safe. I want you happy. I want you to know how much you’re loved._

Barry wiggles a little. Hartley leans up for another open-mouthed, thorough kiss. When Barry breaks away, panting and dazed, Hartley kisses a meandering path down his chest. He pauses to play with Barry’s nipples until he whimpers and squirms. 

_Does that feel good?_ It’s glorious to be able to tease without needing to stop licking and sucking Barry’s nipple. The only response is a desperate whine and a wave of impatience through their mental connection. Hartley grins and trails kisses down Barry’s belly. He loves getting to explore anew—there’s no motivation to hurry when he can take his time (and tease a little, admittedly). 

“You like this.” Barry’s fingers tangle in his hair and pull gently. Hartley glances up. Without his glasses, he can only make out a bright flush and the dark gape of Barry’s mouth. “Kissing me, making me feel good. I thought…” His thoughts turn vaguely guilty. “I thought you mostly did it because you thought you had to.” 

“No.” Hartley nudges his head into Barry’s eager touch. “I see how you could think that, but no. There have only been a couple of times I’ve forced myself to keep going—so few I can count them on one hand.” 

Relief spreads through Barry’s thoughts. Sweet boy—he really was worried. It’s hard to fathom, but it makes Hartley feel oddly safe and cherished. Because he thinks Barry needs the reassurance, he adds, “I focus on your pleasure because I like to. I like seeing you fall apart.” 

“You— _oh.”_ Barry’s thoughts break off into desperate bliss when Hartley kisses along the inside of his thigh. He wants touched. Hartley can’t help getting a little rush out of denying him awhile longer. “Don’t be mean.”

_Impatient._ It’s sent through their connection bundled in amusement, fondness, and no small amount of pleasure. While Barry is still sorting through all those feelings, Hartley leans up and takes him in his mouth. He’s rewarded with a burst of shocked pleasure and a needy little moan. 

Sucking Barry’s cock while mentally linked isn’t like anything he’s ever felt before (or, barring further meta interference, will ever feel again). Barry’s pleasure loops back to him as though he’s feeling it himself, so that everything he does to Barry brings both of them closer to orgasm. They’re going to get into a loop again, he realizes, and doesn’t care. 

The loop is no less blissfully dizzying the second time. Hartley burrows into Barry’s belly in a useless attempt to ground himself. When he opens his eyes, Barry is smiling dazedly down at him. 

“I love you,” he blurts. 

“I love you too.” Barry lets his head fall back against the pillows and gives a weary laugh. “But I think you killed me. I’m never going to move again.”

Hartley snorts. “I predict that’ll last five minutes or until you need a snack.”

“Well, now that you mention it…” The edges of Barry’s thoughts hum with amusement. (He _is_ hungry, though: it registers as a kind of low-grade ache in his mind.) 

“You’re adorable.” Hartley kisses his belly. “But I’m not moving.”

Barry pets the nape of his neck. “Do you think this is going to ruin actual sex for us? Like, are we always gonna be chasing this kind of high, knowing we can’t get it?” 

“No.” Hartley is too practical for that, and Barry lives too much in the moment. “Although remembering how I make you feel will be added incentive to keep you right here, cuddly and well-fucked.” 

Barry’s nails scratch gently against his scalp. He purrs and pushes back into it. “I didn’t realize how happy it made you to make me feel good. You like giving that to me—but could you tell, now, that I like it just as much? Making you feel good?”

Yes, as odd as that concept is. It won’t make surrendering to Barry’s exploration any easier, but at least he’ll no longer have to feel guilty about it. “I love you.” 

Barry’s mind ripples with resignation—he knows this is the end of the conversation for now. While he won’t push, he doesn’t have to like it. Hartley nevertheless appreciates him backing off. “I love you too.”

(When, some three minutes later, he pipes up, “I wasn’t kidding about being hungry,” Hartley rolls his eyes and somehow musters the strength to get up. What an adorable, ridiculous boy he loves.)


End file.
